She Said Stay
by DreamsAreMyWords
Summary: The one-shot story of Santana Lopez' life, as well as the lives of her friends. What happened before, during and after college. Brittana, Quinntana, Dantana, Pezberry, plus other pairings mentioned. My own answers to my questions about what really happened behind the scenes of Glee, and what (I like to think) will happen in the future.


**A/N: This is a completed one-shot about the life of Santana Lopez. It goes over her childhood before Glee (the actual Glee tv series), what's going on in her head during what we see in the show, and then in the future after she graduates high school, etc. Explains aspects of her relationship with Brittany, the one-night stand with Quinn, her relationship with Dani, and a potential relationship with Rachel, among other girls. Also speaks about relationships and lives of the other Glee students, such as Kurt, Finn, Puck, etc. (Feel free to message me if you have any questions about the few kids I left out). **

**I love Santana Lopez. She is one of the few things Glee has done right!**

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You aren't the type of person who gets knocked off their feet. Your entire life, in fact, has been a fluxion of boring predictability, and any surprises flung your way have been bad ones.

Elementary school had been a disappointing time for you, full of being the annoying kid in class who hogged all the crayons and hopped out of her seat to raise her hand the highest in order to get the best grade. You would take it home to only one parent, your mother, who would stick it on the refrigerator, not just because she was proud of it, but because that was what she had to do order for your father to see it when he eventually came home from the hospital.

Middle school was an even bigger disappointment, because your mother resumed her job as an international aid worker and traveled often. Her absences increased almost as much as your father's did as he continued his work as the general surgeon at the local hospital. Sometimes you would go days at a time with the only communication from them being their hurried _I love you and I'll see you soon's _on the phone. You continued to cheer and tumble, but you quit soccer and tennis, because the only reason you played those in the first place was because you liked it when your parents were cheering you on in the stands, and if they weren't there, what was the point? Your grandmother was constantly home taking care of your grandfather, and you were right there with her, every day after school, doing your homework in the kitchen to sound of Wheel of Fortune drifting quietly from the small box television in the living room where your skeleton-thin grandfather lay swathed in a patchwork quilt on the moth-eaten sofa. Your parents may have had money, but your grandparents lived on a meager government income in Lima Heights Adjacent, and your grandmother was too proud to take the money offered to her by her daughter and son-in-law, and your grandfather was too far gone mentally to even think to ask for any. Two weeks before you finished eighth grade, your grandfather passed away, which had came as a surprise to you even despite how sick he had been. After spending so many days helping your grandmother make him soup and watching the peaceful way his thin chest rose and fell as he dozed, the feeble hold he had on life had seemed almost transcendent, as though you would go your entire life with him continuing to live that way, and your grandmother continuing to care for him. Perhaps you even had it in your head that you would come back to visit when you were famous, and your grandparents would still be there in that tiny house, your grandfather snoring while your grandmother cooked in the kitchen, absently humming to herself as she prepared her special tortilla soup your grandfather seemed to love almost as much as you did. After his death, your mother came home, and she traveled less after that. When she did travel, it was only to towns nearby, so she would only be gone a night at a time, which was more preferable. Your abuela grew harder after that, colder, and the stern look she generally adorned was more fixated with each passing day of mourning her husband.

High school was probably the best, and worst, time of your life up until now. You had the most surprises that year, and only a couple of them were pleasant. You practically ruled your school, alongside your infamous frenemy Quinn Fabray and your unicorn first love Brittany Pierce. Together, the three of you ruled even as freshman, and Quinn became the first freshman ever to be named captain of the Cheerios, a fact that infuriated you because you thought you deserved it just as much, and Quinn Fabray was a goody two-shoes that got everything she wanted and had loving parents who were always home waiting to shower her with praise after school every day, while you went home to a mother who smiled sadly at you as she sat reading the newspaper near the phone, awaiting a call from your busy father, and a grandmother who kept herself occupied cooking an unnecessary amount of food to distract herself from the gaping hole in her heart. When Quinn became pregnant, it brought you mingled satisfaction and pity. When she was shunned by her family, it brought you even more passionate satisfaction and stronger pity. It had felt great to see how the mighty had fallen, but you knew how it felt to miss your family, and despite how callous you treated people in general, it was something you wouldn't wish on anybody.

Another surprise arrived in the form of your hormones. You had always been particularly partial to girls; after all, it wasn't as though boys had ever been even remotely appealing to you as anything more than pawns and accessories to getting your way. You had felt the strange little butterflies in your stomach around Brittany ever since you met her, but they had been almost tolerable until the day when Brittany decided she wanted to experiment with lady kisses and you were her subject. That was the first time you truly allowed yourself to contemplate your sexuality, the one you had always reassured yourself of so vehemently. Brittany went on to kiss many more people after that, in fact nearly everyone in the entire school, which she seemed to be proud of. But it annoyed you, which confused you as well. It didn't take much longer for you to coax Brittany back into your arms, but keeping her there was a different story. After all, you were constantly reminding her that you were a lizard and just needed something warm beneath you, and she was good for the job since you were best friends and she was always around.

Sophomore year you were dragged into Glee club thanks to Coach Sylvester plot to overthrow Glee club, and Quinn's eagerness to infiltrate and figure out what the hell Rachel Berry was up to with Finn Hudson. You had never actually spoken to Rachel directly before. The most you had done is heard of her name; it came to your ears through Quinn's voice, using her best ice-bitch tone as she told you about this annoying girl who was making lame Myspace videos of herself singing her heart out using a hairbrush as a microphone. When you heard Rachel sing for the first time as you stood with Quinn and Coach Sylvester to spy on the Glee club as they sang Don't Stop Believing, it made your blood run cold and put a furious fire in your heart, because up until that point, you had been planning on uploading hot Youtube videos of yourself singing Amy Winehouse tunes as you danced in your Cheerios outfit, not just because it looked great on you and popularity added an extra bonus to hotness, but because it was red and that was your favorite color. Meanwhile, Quinn was doubly pissed off, because Rachel and Finn's chemistry was undeniable, and Coach Sylvester was pissed too, mostly because she was impressed despite herself.

More surprises came your way, all of them fairly unpleasant. You had dumped Noah Puckerman long ago, but it still enraged you that he had this pathetic crush on Quinn. Everyone had a pathetic crush on Quinn, and you didn't understand why. Sure, she was easy on the eyes, top in the class, and athletic to boot, but she was also a high-maintenance stuck-up bitch who manipulated the people around her just to get what she wanted. You had a sneaking suspicion that those aspects of her mostly bothered you because you shared the exact same qualities, but you weren't paranoid or a crazy, neurotic perfectionist like Quinn, and the fact that she was so fake just to hide her imperfections rubbed you the wrong way. You hated it when people weren't real.

You fought with Quinn a plethora of times, sometimes just verbally, sometimes physically. Brittany tried to be the mediator, though she only succeeded occasionally in calming the situation. Eventually, when the truth came out about the real father, you backed off, partly because you now understood why she was so concerned with Puck, but mostly because you were distracted with Brittany.

Your junior year had been a blur, full of stolen moments with Brittany. You were irritated with the fact that Brittany had started dating the four-eyed loser-on-wheels, Artie Abrams. As a matter of fact, you were irritated with everyone and you weren't exactly sure why, or maybe you were, but you pretended not to know. You picked fights with people, such as Lauren Zizes and you plotted your revenge on Quinn, since you were still pissed at her for ratting you out about your breast implants just so she could regain her captaincy. You finally got your revenge on her by stealing her boyfriend after you realized she was cheating on him with Finn Hudson. You received more solos in Glee, which was a club that surprisingly had became the favorite part of your day, but you still felt an emptiness inside, one that was only filled when you were alone with Brittany, cuddled up with her in bed.

More surprises came. Finn Hudson gave you a literal kick out of the closet, and while you hated him at first for it, eventually you were grateful for his asshole ways. He may have been a dick, but you might have never admitted the truth if it wasn't for what he did. You knew he meant well, even if was wrong, because after all, you were his first, even if he was a lousy lay and the sex lasted hardly five minutes. Your only consolation was the fact that he had moobs; pitiful breasts were better than no breasts at all.

Your parents weren't thrilled about the idea, but they accepted you. Your grandmother, however, was another story. She banished you from her life, and you spent more than a fair amount of time crying yourself to sleep for that. You wondered if your grandfather would have shunned you if he had been here too. You like to think that he wouldn't have, and perhaps would have calmed your grandmother down and convinced her to love you anyway. Your friends told you that your grandmother wasn't worth your tears, but you couldn't help it; she had been your _Abuela_, and you would miss her presence, even if it had been stoic and solemn.

Brittany was finally yours, and that was one of the few pleasant surprises of your life. Never in a million years did you think you'd be at a stage where you would be kissing her out in the open, where everyone could see. Never in a million years did you think everyone would accept the fact that you were a lesbian, let alone the fact that you accepted it yourself.

You won Nationals, again as Cheerios and for the first time in Glee club. You hadn't been sure where you were going after graduation, and you were devastated by the fact that Brittany would be remaining behind because of her poor GPA. You hadn't understood why she failed everything, because generally you did her homework for her. Later, you found all the sheets in a forgotten pile on the desk in her room, and realized she had forgotten to turn them in. You decided to go to the University of Louisville on your cheerleading scholarship, even though it felt wrong. But you were hurt and confused because you couldn't see going through every day without Brittany by your side, because she had been there every single day for the past four years.

College rolled around and it was confusing. You were in a new school where no one knew who you were; you were no longer the badass "Lebanese" cheerio who ruled the school and was a kickass talent to boot. You were a new freshman missing your girlfriend back home and carrying red and black pom poms as you walked around with a bitter taste in your mouth that came from disappointment. Most of all, you were lonely. You missed your friends. Your first visit home to Lima couldn't have came at a better time; seeing everyone again was indescribable. You had even missed Finn and his stupid half-smirk. Most of all, however, you had missed your old best friend and Cheerios captain, Quinn. She seemed better after some time at Yale. More emotionally stable, more confident. You had only texted a few times since you graduated, so you knew little about her college experience thus far besides the fact that she was making good grades, and not just because she was sucking off her college professor, which you found completely unsurprising, as was her indifference to your warning her to end it. You fought again, which wasn't a surprise either, though the stinging slap she delivered to you was. Your texting ceased completely after that, and when you returned to Louisville, you were even more lonely than you had been before.

You went to New York once, after you received a call from Kurt begging you to come up with Quinn to try to talk Rachel out of going nude for a shitty student film. You were more than eager to comply. You missed Rachel and Kurt, even despite Rachel's irritating bossiness and Kurt's ultra gay flamboyance, and even more than that you missed Quinn, though you would never admit that to her. You enjoyed your time in the city, and after you left, your random albeit sparse texting resumed, and you spoke to her a little more. Still, that did nothing to sate you back at college.

You were wasting away, and you knew it. You were so confused and lost and torn up from frustration over your disappointment in life and pain from missing your girlfriend and old friends and loneliness from not knowing anyone at your new home that you even began to distance yourself from it all. You became lost in your daydreams, lost in silent musings on what life could be like. You could have went to New York or Hollywood or something, could have made an album and already been on the radio by now. You could be back at your dorm room, bending over the cute redhead who was giving you the sultry eyes over the rim of her Virginia Woolf book from where she sat behind you in the library.

That was when you had realized that you had to end things with Brittany. You had to do it, and as soon as possible, because she was your best friend and there was no way you could hurt her just because you were lonely. You would never cheat on her and you both knew that, but you realized then that if you had had an energy exchange with someone else, maybe she had too. So you revisited Lima, and you ended it, as much as it broke your heart. You couldn't decide whether it felt right or wrong. When you had been driving home and rehearsing the conversation and the song you would sing to her, it had felt right. But when you hugged her goodbye and walked out of that choir room, it felt wrong.

It didn't take long before in hindsight you saw that your decision might have been a little premature. You tried to win her back, even going so far as to convince one of your fellow cheerleaders to pose as your new girlfriend. You had been desperate, particularly since Brittany was dating Trouty Mouth now and that pissed you off to no end. She wasn't supposed to move on so fast. She was supposed to spend the next four years pining you, until you graduated college and you could move in together and start a life. She wasn't supposed to just slap the "friend" label back onto you and start seeing other people.

You learned to let her go. You pursued your passions, ditched UOL to hitch a ticket to New York and move yourself in with Rachel and Kurt, without an invitation. It was perhaps one of the most rash things you had ever done; your friendships with both of them were tentative to say the least, considering you had barely formed an actual relationship with the two of them right before you graduated, not to mention you were running only on the cash your mother had given you, and New York was obviously an expensive city to live in, and you had no idea what you were doing. But somehow, it worked. The fact that Rachel and Kurt became your new family was feasibly the most relieving surprise you'd ever felt.

You scored a job as a bartender at Coyote Ugly, which was another relief. You suspected the only reason you got it was because three men had ordered more drinks after eyeing up your breasts, but you didn't care because you hoped it would be a chance to have fun, maybe even do a little singing and dancing. When you were promoted to a cage dancer, it was as embarrassing as it was satisfying. Rachel and Kurt weren't the biggest fans of it, but once you signed up for some NYADA classes, they were placated.

The next time you visited Lima again, you were in for a few more surprises. You went down for Mr. Shue and Mrs. Pillsbury's wedding, and were plagued by the constant appearance of what most of your friends were referring to as_ Bram_. Quinn was at the wedding too, and she kept you company and was nice enough to try to distract you. To be honest, she did a pretty good job about it, because her rage toward the male species was interesting, and curious to you. Quinn had been raised in a highly conservative, religious family where little girls grew up with the awareness that life would only truly begin when you found your husband. High school had been a blur of boys for her, Finn, Puck, Sam, even Joe Hart. To hear her ranting on about how idiotic men were and how sick she was of their sweaty, fumbling bodies was entertaining to say the least.

Then came a huge surprise, and not exactly an altogether pleasant one. Quinn had been flirting with you. That fact alone wasn't too surprising—after you returned to New York City to be haunted by your memories of that night at the wedding, you realized that you and Quinn had always had an abnormal amount of sexual chemistry, and perhaps that was the reason you had always been in each other's faces fighting all the time. There was even more concrete evidence, such as how you would always be so sensual toward each other, whether it was a deliberate lilt of the head or a slow stroke across a piano. But still, you had never in a million years expected Quinn Fabray to touch your arm and tell you that you were killing it in your favorite red dress, or for her to pull you into a slow dance and tell you she liked it, or for her hands to find your waist and pull you close as she whispered into your ear with alcohol on her breath that she wanted you to take her upstairs. It had almost confused you at first—despite what most people thought, the only person you had ever truly dated for real was Brittany, and you could be a little naïve in the romance department. You asked her why, and then felt your body grow warm all over when she told you she had a room with a bed and she wanted you in it.

You had taken her hand and weaved your way through the dancing people without a moment's hesitation. Your mind had gone into overdrive, into thoughts you hadn't even known you were capable of having and yet were spilling forth as though they'd been bottled up and caked with dust that sprinkled around like ashes that set your skin on fire. This was Quinn fucking Fabray, _Quinn Fabray_, she had been even higher up than you had in ranking, she had literally ruled the school as the beautiful blonde queen, she had topped the pyramid, she had been the best of every class, she had been your best friend. And then it had hit you: _this was your other best friend._ You had two. One was Brittany, and you had became more than friends with her, and then broke up and lost her. Was it really worth it to shift things around with your other best friend, too?

Quinn had noticed the hesitation on your face when she turned around to see why you had let go of her hand and let her hurry on without you. In the deserted hallway, she teetered back over to you, and without even a hint of what she was about to do, pushed you back against the wall with her fingertips at your shoulders as she pressed her perfectly soft, pouty lips against yours. It made your stomach tighten and brought wetness to the apex between your thighs so suddenly that you gasped into her mouth. Then she pulled back and smiled at you, one of those rare, ear to ear, show every dazzling white tooth, eyes crinkled Quinn Fabray smiles, ones she only reserved for when she was truly happy, not just when she was faking it for others to see. It made your heart pound just as it brought a similarly goofy smile to your face, and you tilted your head as you took her hand. You walked slowly down the hallway now, and got on the elevator, and you giggled when Quinn started singing the song that Rachel and Finn had been singing onstage earlier. You joined in, both of you juddering your voices to sound like drunk Acapella weirdos on helium, and by the time you reached your floor, you were both playfully pushing one another, falling into the walls in your intoxicated states. You went stumbling down the last stretch of hallway hand in hand before you fell into the wall again, and continued your singing even as Quinn opened the door with surprisingly steady hands, and you followed her into the room with your own hands in the air.

Another surprise—the sex was not quick, rushed, frantic, or any number of the ways you would have thought it would be. Rather it was fervent, and fucking erotic. You took your time on her. Showed her what it was like for a girl to be making love to her instead of a sweaty, groaning man that probably believed the orgasms she faked were actually real. You showed her what real orgasms actually felt like, showed her that cunnilingus was actually something she could enjoy when the person doing it to her knew what she was doing. You relished the wonder and pure bliss on her face, reveled in the moans she made and the way her lithe fingers threaded through your damp hair and pushed your head down, savored the way her body bowed, bucked and trembled as you flattened your tongue against her and made her writhe. Most of all, you appreciated the way afterwards you both lay naked and skin shining with sweat, tangled up in the fluffy hotel bed sheets, and the way her hair turned so messy and her cheeks were stained pink and her lips were swollen and her eyes were bright and she was literally glowing. You never would have imagined she could look that beautiful, never could have imagined you would be in a situation like this, lying adjacent to Quinn Fabray after just fucking her into oblivion. She was the third girl you ever had sex with, apart from Brittany and Ellen, the red-haired girl you had met in the library at UOL. Before, it had been easy to compare the sex between Brittany and Ellen; it had been undeniably and unequivocally better with Brittany. But you couldn't do that here. Something had been different about this, something was different about the warmth it gave you to see Quinn looking so happy and fucking satisfied. You realized that was probably the first time you had ever seen Quinn looking so satisfied. It made you smirk.

She told you it was probably only a one-time thing, which didn't surprise you. Quinn was not the type of girl to pursue things that made her feel good; she had some kind of fucked-up mentality that was always urging her to make the most difficult decisions. What did surprise you was when you suggested a choice for her, that she either walk out first or make it a two time thing on the off chance that she might be convinced into another round, because you had just spent over an hour making her feel good, while she hadn't really touched you at all. You were surprised when she didn't even bother to speak, only smiled that typical queen "I'll do whatever the fuck I want and you'll love it" smile as she lunged across the bed at you. Surprised again when she did touched you, and even went down on you, returning the favor. She was not hesitant or nervous like you would have expected; she was a confident powerhouse of sex, and now you understood why men were always so obsessed with her. She made you come until you couldn't take anymore, and after a rest, you returned the favor to her again, until you were both so exhausted you fell asleep on her chest with her sweaty arm thrown carelessly around you, snuggled up and warm and more comfortable and happy than you had been in a long time. You hadn't even thought of Brittany since Quinn had kissed you in the hallway.

The next morning when you woke, Quinn was gone. You were nervous as you dressed, and when you texted her to wish her luck on her big test next week that she'd been telling you about and she didn't reply, you assumed the worst, that she regretted everything and wasn't going to speak to you ever again. You had lunch with Kurt and Rachel and were silent sitting beside them on the plane back to New York. They didn't ask you why; they were silent themselves, and you could only assume it was because they had probably did things last night that they shouldn't have either.

Quinn texted you back the next morning, claiming her phone had been dead and she couldn't charge it on her flight because she lost her charger. She sent back a smiley face and a thank you to your text, mentioning nothing of the night you shared, and you followed her lead and mentioned nothing either. You spoke more often for a few weeks, and then your conversations eventually slowed to almost a standstill. Your first text in two months had been when you told her happy birthday, and she thanked you for it and invited you to her college for the party. You politefully declined, stating that you had a job interview, and she understood.

You started work at the Starlight Diner, which you found you enjoyed more than you had enjoyed work at Coyote Ugly, if only because you no longer had to deal with drunk men groping for your ass as you walked by. You scored Rachel and Kurt jobs as well, and the three of you worked together for a few weeks before the most unpleasant surprise yet hit you hard.

Finn passed away, devastating everyone. Rachel was practically comatose for a month, while Kurt couldn't stop crying every time he entered a new room. You tried to numb yourself, but old habits die hard. When you went home for the Glee memorial, you broke down, even losing your temper and physically assaulting Coach Sylvester, something you would regret for the rest of your life. You knew you projected your own guilt onto her, and it meant a lot that she understood that and even made you feel better. Kurt had even given you Finn's letterman jacket.

You hated loss. Every part of it. When you cried, it was not just for you. You cried for Kurt. You cried for Burt and Carol. You cried for Rachel. You cried for the loss of Finn's future. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you had expected to be Aunty 'Tana for Rachel and Finn's children they would have, after Finn had taken over Glee club and Rachel was a Broadway starlet and they finally had a wedding where no one was tragically injured. That could never happen now. Finn had had his bad moments, but no one could contest that he was a good guy. He may have been immature and self-centered at times, but he had just been a kid. When he pushed you out of the closet, you had both barely turned seventeen. He would have grown into a good man, and now, he would never have the chance.

Time moved on. Rachel eventually started dating again, though none of the men lasted past the first date. You began seeing a fellow co-worker at the diner, Dani Levanson. She was the first full-out lesbian you ever dated, a fact that had made you nervous at first, because what if you were boring in bed to her? You knew it was silly, but you had only slept with three girls, two of whom were bisexual and one who was straight and experimenting. None of them had any girl-on-girl experience prior, so what if you were only good because they had nothing to compare it to?

Dani assured you that you were good. "Natural talent," she had said, "means imagination over experience." You dated for a couple months before you thought maybe you were in love with her. You wished you had someone else to talk about it with, because you couldn't talk to Rachel about love, that was just cruel, and you couldn't talk to Brittany because she was busy at MIT, and you couldn't talk to Quinn because you never hardly spoke anymore and that would be too random and awkward. You decided to ignore it for the time being, and the two of you continued on with your relationship.

Kurt started a Madonna cover band, which was named Pamela Landsbury. You, him, Rachel, Dani and a nice kid named Elliot, or Starkid, Starchild, whatever he called himself, all sang in it, and you were pretty good. You never had any sold out gigs, but you did alright. Eventually Elliot met a boy he fell in love with, and the two of them moved to L.A. to work in the Hollywood industry, and Kurt tried to replace him with Blaine once Blaine moved into the apartments when he joined NYADA, but it didn't work out and the band fell apart. Soon enough Kurt and Blaine fell apart, and the engagement was called off. Blaine left NYADA to return home to Lima, where he attended the University of Ohio and later became a pediatrician, who regularly hosted impromptu concerts for a charity organization supported by the local hospital.

You and Dani lasted less than a year before you broke up after a mutual agreement that it wasn't working out. You had lost the spark, and in all honesty, you just wanted different things. You made up and started dating again after a few weeks of the separation, and then dated for another couple months, until one night while she was in the shower you noticed a pair of underwear half-concealed beneath her bed that was certainly not hers, and when you asked her about it, she admitted she had been cheating on you for the past two weeks. Her excuse was flimsy and weak; she said she just "loved lady parts," which you took to mean that she was a horny bitch who didn't give a fuck about anyone but herself. Years later, you heard that she moved to L.A., where she sold a few albums and even made it on the radio a few times before she retired after she found the woman of her dreams and adopted an adorable baby boy from Africa, and you weren't hating her anymore so you felt happy for her.

Kurt dated a few more guys, and resumed a healthy friendship with Blaine, who had apparently became engaged to an old friend he used to be in the Warblers Glee club with. Rachel was still having no luck, and it gave guilt to both Kurt and you, who had started casually seeing a few girls you met through various night clubs (you and Kurt commonly went to a few gay clubs, and occasionally Rachel would tag along). One day when Kurt went to Milan for fashion week for his job at Vogue, you and Rachel sat on the couch to watch Moulan Rouge for the millionth time, you noticed a definite change in the atmosphere. Rachel took your hand beneath the blanket, and placed her head on your shoulder, which was nothing new. What was new, however, was that she was stroking the length of your fingers, tracing patterns into the back of your hand with her thumbnail. You looked down at her, confused, and then were alarmed when she tilted her chin up and caught your lips with hers.

You had pulled back almost immediately and demanded to know what she thought she was doing. In response, her lower lip trembled and her eyes welled up as she confessed that she was lonely and could never be with another man again, so she would be with a woman instead. You grew angry at first, wondering if she actually thought you would agree to be her consolation prize, her second-choice. Then you realized there was no prize here. Rachel was nursing a broken a heart, and had been every since Finn died.

You held Rachel in your arms and listened to her cry as you told her that she didn't have to be with anyone until she was ready, and she wasn't going to be truly happy with a woman if she identified as straight. She told you that you were beautiful and she loved you, which made your gut ache with sadness over how broken the words sounded coming from Rachel's lips. You told her she loved you as a friend, the same way you loved her, which was true. You would have to be an idiot not to have noticed how Rachel had grown up from was the annoying little loud-mouth back in Glee club in high school, and how gorgeous and talented and wonderful she was. But she was still Rachel Berry to you. You loved her, but as a roommate, as a best friend. Had you been strangers that met here, you would have agreed to hoping in the bed with her the moment she suggested it. But now, after knowing her so well? She was your best friend, and you knew what happened when you went there with your best friends. You lost them.

On top of that, honestly, your attraction for her only ran so deep. She was beautiful, but not exactly your type. Besides; seeing her every morning before her shower routine had almost scarred you for life, or so you liked to joke.

You assured Rachel nothing had changed between you and that she needn't feel embarrassed. You told her she was gorgeous and you would be lucky to have her, and that one day she would make a man very happy. You told her that Finn would want her to be happy. She cried for a few hours, but it seemed to help, and something changed within her. She woke the next day more back to herself, determined and happy and positive.

After your heart to heart, you and Rachel grew closer. Eventually, in your junior year, she started dating for real. Several times, you, Rachel and Kurt went on triple dates together, alternating between gay clubs and straight clubs to keep a healthy balance. You met an interesting girl at one of the clubs and started dating her for a few months; her name was Kayla and she was in New York recording her songs for the single she was releasing. She was a contemporary singer from Tulsa, Oklahoma, and her voice reminded you of Adele in the way music effortlessly flew from her soul, pouring her heart out as she sang about lost love, inequality, and corrupt patriarchies. Eventually, her over-the-top "peaceful" protesting pushed you over the top, and you broke up with her after she had been arrested for chaining herself to a fence outside of an animal testing site, and bludgeoned a police officer with the picket sign in her hands after the woman tried to get her down.

Kurt met a sweet man named Alexander Epstein in a new coffee shop that you all became addicted to and quickly added to your morning breakfast stops. Alexander, or Zander as he preferred to be called, was a senior at Cornell University, majoring in Engineering with a minor in Musical Theatre. He came from rich lineage (his father was the owner of an oil company), but had been working on his own and paying his own way through college ever since his parents found out he was gay at the very end of his senior year of high school, and he jumped a train to New York and hadn't seen them since. They were apparently very stuffy, uptight people, and were the epitome of conservative, judgmental republicans. They reminded you of Quinn's parents, which hurt to think about a little, if only because you and Quinn's friendship had faded away into only vague status updates on Facebook.

Kurt and Zander dated for seven months before he moved into Kurt's little bedroom in the loft. Kurt was love-struck, Rachel was thrilled for him, and even you didn't raise a qualm about yet another man (the whole Brody thing had been a fiasco) moving into your living spaces. You actually liked Zander, and approved of the way he was sweet and thoughtful with Kurt, who had became like your brother in the past three years. The last guys Kurt had dated seriously were Blaine and a fellow NYADA classmate named Adam, and both had been selfish when it came to love, expecting Kurt to worship them instead of actually taking the time to make him happy. Zander wasn't like that. He brought Kurt flowers after every NYADA performance, cheered for him in the seats, and encouraged him to follow his dreams and passions. He even went so far as to look like a total idiot just to make Kurt laugh, which you learned when you came home from work one day and found Zander standing atop the coffee table wearing a sparkling pink dress and high heels; apparently Kurt had brought it home from Vogue to sketch it and attempt to devise accessories for it, and when Kurt had snapped at Zander for having the television on too loud, instead of arguing back or getting offended, Zander had put on the dress and stepped out, causing Kurt to spew out his coffee in his laughter. That moment had been when you decided you really liked him.

Soon enough, graduation was rolling around, and you felt familiar anxiety well up within you. You still didn't know what you were doing. Rachel was already in Broadway; she had been since she was a freshman and landed a role as Fanny Brice. Kurt was a fashion consultant and doing well at Vogue. You were still working as a waitress at the Starlight Diner, taking a couple hours of dance classes a semester. You had no idea what kind of career you wanted. You already made an album, and it actually hadn't sold well. You suspect it had something to do with the fact that you tried to sing rap and hip-hop songs, rather than your familiar Amy Winehouse-style songs. Either way, it was a bust, and that was a no-go. Besides, you no longer cared about being on the radio anymore. It wasn't like people listened to it so much anyways.

It had been early in the morning when the opportunity presented itself. Kurt called you to tell you that there was a job opening at the local news station where his boss had just had an interview regarding the new spring fashion of Vogue. The job opportunity paid more than the Diner did, so you took a chance and headed to the station. You were pleasantly surprised when you got the job. You spent the next year fetching coffee for the news anchors and basically being their bitch, but it was a small consolation considering your paycheck was so much better than it had been before. Hardly a month after your year anniversary of working there, another opportunity presented itself, and you took the chance on it as well. You never would have imagined yourself as a news reporter, but somehow it happened, and you were good at it. The people loved you, and many gay people were enthused with the idea of a lesbian reporter who didn't give a shit about what people thought of her. Promotions seemed to slam into you, back to back for the next couple years. It was during Kurt and Zander's wedding that you received a call from an agent who told you a channel wanted to make you a show, and that you would be the talk show host. You agreed without a second thought.

That was another pleasant surprise. You wouldn't have thought that you would be in this branch of the biz. The most you had done with television was the embarrassing time you were strapped for cash and desperate for recognition, and became a spokeswoman for Monistat's yeast infection cream.

Moving to California to work in Hollywood had been a cause for anxiety, but it wasn't that hard leaving your loft in New York, if only because Rachel had already moved out to move into a higher-up apartment closer to her Broadway productions, and Kurt and Zander were only living there for the remainder of the year, until they saved up enough to buy the house they wanted. When you started your show, it had been a thing to joke about, particularly with your guests when you wanted to warm them up and make them comfortable. You hosted many interviews with LGBTQ people, along with theater geeks and aspiring singers. Your voice was something most of the crew and directors worshipped, because it upped your ratings even more. You sang your own opening theme music, and occasionally would sing duets with certain guests. When you interviewed Mercedes Jones about her upcoming album, you sang a Whitney Houston song with her, to the delight of your audience. Ratings had gone up by seven percent after that show.

You managed to wrangle interviews for Rachel about her Broadway journey so far, and for Kurt about Vogue. You even interviewed Mr. Shuester, about what it was like to go from underdogs to National show choir champions. Once you had started to get well known and people would see your picture on billboards or hear your name spoken by strangers, or turn on the television and see your show, you started getting nice messages from your old friends. Tina, who was running her own company (you forget what she did, but you knew she was successful and apparently quite the vivacious, strict boss), sent you a cute text even though you hadn't spoken in years. The same happened with Mike, Sugar, Sam, Artie, Coach Sylvester, and more. Puck actually called you and suggested you meet up for a drink and catch up, which was only surprising because the Puck you knew would have offered a party, but after Finn died, Puck had joined the air force, and he apparently had done a lot of growing up there. You received a voicemail from Brittany, whom you hadn't spoken to since college; she was teaching elementary school in Columbia with her girlfriend Clara. You also received a text from Quinn, whom you had barely spoken to ever since Mr. Shue's failed attempt of a wedding. She had a Masters in psychology, and was apparently planning to join some kind of theatrical program that helps struggling kids, teen mothers in particular. Both of your old friends had congratulated you warmly and informed you that they watched your show, every Tuesday night.

It wasn't long before you had offers to do some real acting. You took them, of course. In your first movie, you were only a guest star. You were playing the part of a rich power broker in L.A. Your performance was received with startling good reviews, so you were in more movies, until eventually you were starring in them. Your best to date was your zombie apocalypse film, in which you starred as a Lara Croft-esque character.

You made new friends in California, such as a man named Ben who was one of the audio technicians on your crew, and a woman named Stephanie, who was married to your boss. You became frenemies with your future co-host Kitty Wilde, another former Glee club member who reminded you of your old cheerios coach. Kitty was a cut-throat idealist who clearly strived for the amount of fame you had gained, but she was loyal to those who helped her out, and your job offer was what really helped her get in the business, so she was tolerable for you on most days. She was hilarious and a big hit with the audience, but at times she could be blunt and insensitive, and tact was something you had learned to appreciate after interviewing so many unique people.

Rachel had met the love of her life during a production of Les Miserables. His name was Lucas Callen, and he had played the part of Jean Valjean to Rachel's Fantine. Rachel later confessed to you that she had been attracted to him and liked his personality, but had been too nervous to ask him out. She met him again two years later during he production of Ragtime, where she played Elphaba and he played Fiyero. They dated for over a year before he proposed to her. It was the third real relationship she'd had since Finn's death; the only other two men she'd dated seriously had been a fellow NYADA student named Carter Williams and Jesse St. James, who was apparently a musical theater coach who traveled the world to help various choirs and individual students. They ran into each other after he saw her showing of Ragtime, and dated for a few months before they mutually decided to part ways.

You brought Kitty as your plus one to Rachel and Luke's wedding, and were amused months later when you learned that Kitty and Artie (who was a director for some of the top movies in Hollywood) had started dating again, the last time being years ago in high school. Two years later, you were attending their wedding as well.

Still, despite all your accomplishments, you were lonely. You absently wondered if it was because you had no one close to share it with; after all, Rachel and Kurt had been your best friends, and you spoke to them hardly once a week now that they were both busy raising their families. Kurt and Zander were raising two twin girls they had adopted from Thailand, and Rachel was pregnant with her second child, her hands already full with her firstborn, a dramatic, adorably determined little girl named Star (she had insisted there was a reason famous celebrities named their children things like Apple and Blanket, and had heatedly defended her name choice with the fact that Star's name was "fated to be").

It was nearly a decade to the day that you had last seen Quinn when you asked her if she wanted to be on your show. Her work with struggling teens had been remarkable, and she had helped many kids onto their feet. She agreed graciously and arrived in California early on a drizzling Sunday evening; your people had rented a hotel for her to stay at, but you invited her over for dinner. You had expected it to be awkward when you saw one another again, much the way it was to run into Brittany when you flew home to Lima to visit your parents. But it wasn't. You met her in the airport and exchanged a long embrace, kissing her cheek and lingering just a moment too long because you were marveling over the fact that she still smelled exactly the same as she always had. Her smile was beaming, and you tried not to think about the fact that the last time you saw her beaming, she had been naked and arching her underneath you.

You ended up cancelling the hotel reservation and giving her your bed, opting to sleep on the couch instead. She was an old friend, never mind the fact that you'd slept together one night years ago, and it wasn't a big deal for her to stay over. In the morning, you cooked her waffles because you knew they were her favorite, and you both discussed the interview plans as you drank your usual influx of coffee. You spoke of other things, catching one another up on how life had been since you last were in each other's company. You found it bizarre that this was the girl who had once been your bitchy captain on the Cheerios, intent on ruining Rachel Berry's life for stealing her boyfriend, that this was girl who tried to steal back the baby she'd given up for adoption because she had grown unstable from the holes in her heart, that this was the girl who had been in a wheelchair for months after being hit by a truck, that this was the girl who had dyed her hair pink and gotten a stupid tattoo and a nose ring in an attempt to appear as an uncaring badass, that this was the girl who had fucked her psych professor in his own wife's bed. She was not the same person anymore; now, she was Quinn Fabray, a strong, inspiring woman who had taken her hardships and the adversity in her life to turn it around and help others, to be there for people who had no one else because she knew how that felt. You were proud of your old best friend.

The interview had went amazing, and the show was aired a week later and met with praising reviews. You couldn't help but to notice things as you watched it, such as how your gaze on her was just a little too intense, and your hand on her arm would linger just a little too long. The way Quinn would lilt her head to the side and look up at you through her thick haze of lashes, the way she would slowly trace patterns into the arm of the chair she sat in with a lofty movement of her wrist, as though she knew it drew your eyes to her and she knew she had a certain effect on you. The idea surprised you, and you couldn't decide whether it was pleasant or unpleasant. The idea of wanting Quinn Fabray as anything more than a frenemy or a one-night stand was a confusing concept, to say the least. Still, you would have been lying to say she didn't intrigue you.

She extended her visit for a few more days and stayed at your house. You didn't mind sleeping on the couch, especially when you would lie on your bed to speak with her in the morning and you could smell her sweet scent all over your blankets and pillows. You spoke some more about your college experiences, and you were confounded to learn that she had went on to sleep with several more women after your encounter at the wedding so many years ago. Though you both skirted around actually mentioning that night, Quinn admitted to you that she had wondered before what it would be like to be with a woman, which was why she was always supporting equality; she knew she wasn't completely straight herself. She grew up with parents that clearly implied that the rules of life meant, as a girl, you must grow up to be a perfect submissive wife to a man. It took her time to get out of that mindset, and when she did, she was able to freely date whomever she wanted. She told you that at first, she mostly dated men, and there were a couple women she spoke to. Then as the years went on, it gradually dwindled down to exclusively dating women, and she realized she felt right that way. She no longer had to care what her father thought, and her mother was still so grateful to be in her daughter's life that she would raise no qualms either.

The two of you had conversations you never thought you would; you shared your experiences of dating women. You told her about Dani, and a few other girls you'd dated seriously. She told you about a girl named April who had been in her sorority. They dated in secrecy for over a year until Quinn broke up with her because she wanted to be open. You wondered why you hadn't heard about Quinn's sexuality before now, at least from Rachel since you knew they used to occasionally email one another. When you asked, Quinn shrugged and said she kept her friends from Lima in the dark, mostly because she couldn't be bothered explaining herself to them. You understood. She had a new life in New York, and obviously didn't need to be reminded of her past.

You were the happiest you've been in as long as you could remember for those five days. Quinn seemed happy too. In fact, whenever you went out to dinner with Kitty and Artie, you couldn't help but to notice the shrewd way Kitty was staring at you both, and the dopey grin on Artie's face. You were too delighted in Quinn's presence to notice, however, so you didn't mention it and neither did they, nor did Quinn, if she had observed it too.

Those five days passed in a blur. On the last night Quinn was in town, you took her out to your favorite local restaurant. Kitty and Artie were supposed to join you, but Artie was home sick with the flu so Kitty stayed to take care of him. You and Quinn went anyway, and you enjoyed your time with her, though the butterflies in your belly confused you. You tried to tell yourself that this was nothing new, that you were just having dinner with your friend, much like you had done when you were kids. But she was so beautiful sitting across from you, and her hair, which had grown long again since high school, was spilling over her shoulders in golden waves, her eyes a bright hazel that regarded you with that typical bright, curious yet knowing kind of Quinn intensity that hadn't changed even after all these years. You couldn't get the memory of that night at the wedding out of your head, nor could you deny the sadness and emptiness you felt knowing tonight was her last night with you. You struggled to ignore the overwhelming emotions flooding you over, but it was difficult.

You took her to dance at your favorite club. Neither of you drank because you were driving her home and she didn't want to wake up with a hangover for her flight. You tried to avoid talking to her one on one, and just looking at her in general because she had your feelings and hormones all twisted and tangled up, so you lead her out onto the crowded dance floor. That had been counterproductive; initially you thought you would lose each other in the crowd, but instead she pulled you back to her with two firm hands on your hips, and you were both laughing as you shimmied and twerked and danced like total idiots. You ignored the sweaty men that tried to dance with you, shrugging and laughing them off. But the laughter and giggles only lasted so long, because now Quinn was in front of you, and she was rolling her hips as she pushed her hair, damp with sweat, out of her face. Your bodies were practically pressed together, your gazes alternating between traversing the lengths of one another's bodies, to locking together. The lights were flashing different colors, and you marveled over the way they made her skin glow.

You almost kissed. You knew it would have happened if one of the bumbling idiots dancing near you hadn't fallen into you and shoved you by accident, causing you to stumble back. You would have fell if Quinn hadn't gripped you above your elbow, pulled you up until you were balanced on your feet. You both cursed at the dumbass, but he was drunk and grinning dopily at you, and when he asked you both out simultaneously by shouting over the pounding music, you rolled your eyes and shouldered your ways off the dance floor. Quinn appeared concerned as she asked you if you were okay, and it took a few times to assure her you were fine. Then you left the club for home.

Back at your apartment, you shared a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream and joked about the idiot who had fell into you at the club. Neither of you mentioned the almost-kiss. Instead, you curled up together on the couch to watch your favorite movie, Leprechaun (with the lovely young Jen Aniston). You felt your heart pound when her hand found your leg under the quilt and she casually stroked the skin above your knee, but you didn't move. You remained painstakingly motionless, as though you feared that if you moved even an inch, she would stop what she was doing. Then her hand inched higher, and the tips of her nails were scratching against the unnaturally hot skin of your upper thigh with an erogenous insistence. You turned your head to look at her, found her already looking at you. Her white teeth were worrying her plump bottom lip, and you couldn't stop your gaze from lingering on the movement. Quinn's fingers drifted higher, and you swallowed, breathless with your heart beating rapidly like fluttering wings, and you leaned toward her as she leaned toward you. Later, you would swear you heard bells and saw lights bursting behind your eyelids as your lips touched. Nothing would ever compare to that, and you didn't understand it, but your body was on fire and all you were thinking about was hearing her moan, so you kept kissing her, and kept kissing her, and didn't stop.

The next morning, you woke to find Quinn gone from your bed again. Initially, you panicked, and then you fumed. The second night you spent together and nearly ten years later, and she still left you again. You got out of bed, pulled on a robe and stormed out of your room, planning to grab your phone off the couch where you'd left it and call her to give her a piece of your mind. But you were stopped short when you found her in the kitchen, wearing nothing more than an old oversized t-shirt of yours as she stood over a pan of frying eggs. When she looked back at you over her shoulder and smiled, you echoed it without a second thought. As you lay with her in bed and shared quiet laughs and murmured words, you smiled to yourself, not just because this was Quinn, an incredible woman who had somehow snuck her way back into your life in less than a week, but because you felt as though you were on cloud nine, practically floating through the sky, your heart singing. You knew what that meant, though it had been a long time since you felt it. And as much as it scared you, you couldn't deny how good it felt.

You drove her to the airport a couple hours later. It was raining much like how it had been when you picked her up the first day. You huddled close to her under a black umbrella as you ferried her to the door, but before you could open it, she stopped you. You looked questioningly at her, and she tilted her head, her lips still swollen from the morning and last night. She kissed you slowly, not a hurry in the world even though she was late for her flight. The rain dripped down on the umbrella in a euphony of harmonious beats, and your heart sang in accompaniment as you kissed Quinn softly, deeply, and willed her to stay.

It was a significant word to you, one that you had learned through your life was one of the most powerful, meaningful things a person could say. As a child, you had listened to your grandmother murmur it to your grandfather when he had been particularly bad, and a case of anemonia meant he could either live or die that very day. You had whispered it yourself as you lay curled up in bed on Christmas Eve, praying it would somehow reach your father's ears and make him stay home for Christmas, regardless of whether or not he was called in to work at the hospital. You wept it to Brittany when she told you she loved you, but she was dating Artie and she loved him too, and she couldn't cheat on him any longer. You had sobbed it to your grandmother when she told you that you were an abomination to God and she no longer wanted you in her life. You had cried yourself to sleep singing the word when you broke up with Brittany, and you had cried it when Dani cheated on you. You said it sadly when Rachel moved out of the loft to move to SoHo, and you sighed it to yourself when you told Kurt and Zander you were moving to California. But some things had to happen, had to be done regardless of how painful they were. Quinn had to go back to New York to continue her work with the kids. You had to continue your show. Life had to go on, and you were from two different worlds. Besides, it wasn't as though she felt the same way.

So you bit your tongue and told her goodbye, smiling and waving as she headed toward her terminal. Then you got in your car and drove back to your silent, empty apartment, where you lay in bed breathing in Quinn's scent that still lingered on the pillows.

You and Quinn spoke nearly every day over the course of the next three weeks. Sometimes you spoke about her work, sometimes yours, and sometimes you flirted and sent creatively filthy pictures as you murmured private things into the phone piece, but mostly, you lamented over how much you missed one another. Quinn promised she would visit soon, and you told her you would visit when your show went on hiatus. You ended up being the one who could visit first; you flew to New York and visited Quinn's worksite, even meeting a few kids. You both visited Kurt, Zander, and their daughters together, and later went to see a Broadway production that Luke was in, and sat with Rachel, Star and newborn baby William as you watched the show. That night, you fell into Quinn's bed with her, and you spent the next two days tumbling around in the sheets before it was her turn to take you to the airport. You kissed her goodbye, promised to see her again soon, and then flew home, biting your lip all the way as you imagined what it would have been like for Quinn to ask you to stay. You wanted to stay. You wanted more time with her. You wanted all the time with her.

You found it amazing that ten years ago, you never would have guessed where you would be now. Hell, even one year ago. You never would have imagined yourself falling for Quinn Fabray.

Three months passed, with you and Quinn seeing one another at least every couple of weeks. You couldn't decide whether you enjoyed it more when she came to visit you, or you went to visit her. It didn't matter where you were, because Quinn was all you needed. When you were with her, you felt like you were home. Every touch and every kiss became both more and less familiar with the passing time. While it felt right, as though you had been born for the sole purpose of fusing your lips to hers, at the same time it was still a newfound experience, as though you were learning new ways she could bring that heat to your body, with every soft, firm press of her pouty lips, with every languid sweep of her tongue. Over summer, while your show wasn't due to start its next season until Fall, you took a two month-long vacation in New York, staying with Quinn. The paparazzi found you there several times, and because each time it had been with Quinn and you were out and proud about being a lesbian to the public, it wasn't long before the pictures taken of the two of you at various restaurants, strolling around town, even bowling, were plastered across the front page of the Times, always with the bold headline pondering whether or not Quinn was your girlfriend. You were mortified at first, profusely apologizing to Quinn and telling her you could go home if she was upset, but on the contrary, she bought every new paper. You would find her in her quirky, pristine kitchen in the mornings, sitting at the table sipping coffee as she curiously read through the articles. Rather than upset, she seemed amused, and assured you that there was no way in hell you were going home when she had you to herself for the entire summer.

It was much harder than you thought it would be, going home. You struggled not to let her see you cry as you stood together in the airport lobby, your arms wrapped around one another in a desperate embrace. When you drew back, you were surprised to see that her unusually bright hazel eyes were brimming with unshed tears. You thumbed away the tear that had started to leak out of the corner of her right eye, and she shook her head, turning to kiss your palm before she started to back away. "Visit soon," she had said softly in a hoarse voice. Taken aback at her display of vulnerable emotions, you only nodded, and then you boarded your plane, aware she was watching you take off.

For the next five months, you and Quinn continued to visit one another. You both expressed how grateful you were that you were in jobs that made a fair amount of money, because the plane tickets were really starting to pile up. You desperately wondered what you and Quinn were doing exactly, if you were just best friends who slept together and that was all she wanted, or if she wanted more, if she wanted to make it official. According to the papers, you two had already been secretly married in Cancun after a wild weekend of drugs and run-ins with Miley Cyrus and Rihanna during their epic feud (in truth, you had only met Miley once during an interview, and you had never even spoken to Rihanna before). It both irritated and entertained you how stupid people could be; you and Quinn had never even spoke of dating, let alone eloping to another country. Rachel, Kurt and Kitty knew the two of you had been sleeping together, and all three encouraged you to ask Quinn what exactly it was (though Kitty had suggested it more scathingly, and you traded off sarcastic, highly creative insults before you won and she had to go fetch you a coffee).

Still, you knew your friends were right. So the next time she came to California to visit, you asked her what it was that you were doing. And she took your hand, stroked the back of your knuckled, and said, "We're dating now, aren't we?" You smiled and kissed her and made love to her for the third time that afternoon.

Going home was even harder after that. You both freely cried at the airport, in complete pain after spending such an emotional weekend together. But you had to go home, had to keep working, and Quinn had to continue her work in New York. She was very close to finally appropriating a new organization to provide free birth control and condoms to teenagers who could otherwise not get it elsewhere. You were proud of your girlfriend's hard work. Your _girlfriend._ You smiled as you looked out the window at a beautiful sunrise on your flight home.

On New Year's Eve, Quinn drunkenly told you she loved you. You had flown to New York to attend Rachel and Luke's "A New Year of Broadway" party. Quinn ended up drinking more than she had planned, mostly because she found her favorite red wine and you assured her you would hail the two of you a cab and get you home safely. When you helped Quinn stumble over to the bed and you tucked her in, she looked up at you and smiled, her heavy-lidded eyes beginning to close as she breathed, "I love you, San…"

And that was the first time you were completely knocked off your feet. It felt as though all the breath had been stolen from your lungs. You felt elation fly up within you as indignation bubbled and stewed. You were pissed that that was how she told you, that the first time you heard you tell you she loved you was when she was passing out drunk. But still…she loved you. And that was everything.

When you got into bed with her, you drew her up into your arms and nuzzled her before whispering into her ear, "I love you, Q. I love you so much."

The next morning, Quinn was embarrassed when you told her what she said. You enjoyed letting her wallow in awkwardness for a few minutes, before you interrupted her apologetic ranting and told you that you loved her too. She went slack-jawed, surprised, flustered, utterly knocked off her own feet. Then she smiled, and your smile widened, until you were both grinning ear to ear and she lunged at you, and you spent the entire day and night in bed.

Flying home was the hardest yet. You and Quinn exchanged tearful _I love you's _at the airport, along with the usual promises of "I'll see you soon." Then, as you turned and began to wheel your suitcase away towards the terminal, you heard Quinn whisper something that knocked you off your feet again.

_"Stay."_

You turned around to face her, stunned. People walked past you, hurrying for the flight, but you stood still, transfixed, your wide eyes focused on Quinn, who stood with her hands clasped nervously together and her head tilted down, as though she were embarrassed. "What?" you said. "What did you say?" you asked, more urgently as you left your suitcase where it stood and crossed the space between you and Quinn, cupping her sweet face in your hands. "What?"

"I said I want you to stay," she had repeated, her voice soft and anxious. 'Just…I don't know. Be with me."

_She said stay. _Quinn had asked you to stay.

It was like your entire life suddenly made sense. This was what everything had led up to. This was what it was about, this was the whole point of it all, of all the moments, good and bad. Everything had led up to this, to her. To Quinn Fabray, and the realization that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her. Your old friend that you had grown up with, that you had once cheered alongside and admired her sky splits, that you had once slapped across the face because she told Coach Sylvester about your summer surgery, that you had once thrown your arms around when Glee club finally won Nationals, that you had once made had a one-night stand with in an overpriced hotel room at your old teacher's wedding. Quinn Fabray. She was the end and the beginning of you. She was infinite and she was everything, and it had only taken this long to figure it out. _Stay,_ she'd said.

You slipped an arm around her waist and smiled at how her uncertainty slipped away, and she smiled wryly as you brought her lips to yours. "I will," you promised her.

Quinn ended up moving to California to live with you. She wanted to start up another organization for the children there, having successfully created the New York organization. Later, you interviewed her again for your show, and your audience went wild when you announced that you were getting married. Two years later, they went wild again, when you announced that Quinn was pregnant after a successful artificial insemination. Four years after that, they went their wildest yet when you announced your own pregnancy.

Now, you were both crossing back and forth in your living room, helping your daughter decorate the Christmas tree while your son just disappeared into the kitchen, presumably to steal part of the gingerbread house he and his sister had decorated earlier today, while he thought his mothers were too busy to notice. You exchanged a smile with Quinn, and she rolled her eyes and shook her head as she went to the kitchen to drag him back, and you forced him to carefully share the ladder with his sister as they worked together to place the star on the top of the Christmas tree.

Getting knocked off your feet, you learned, had been the best thing that ever happened to you.


End file.
